


Journey

by quizasvivamos



Category: Glee
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Bad Boy Blaine, Barebacking, Existentialism, Homelessness, M/M, Romance, Skank Kurt, Smoking, Symbolism, Unsafe Sex, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quizasvivamos/pseuds/quizasvivamos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Badboy!Blaine and Skank!Kurt: Kurt and Blaine meet on the long-abandoned railroad tracks of a technologically advanced dystopian society. They are outcasts. With being gay comes being marked or “branded”, and they must carry the burden of the literal stigma wherever they go so that the world knows what they are. This story is about where they go when they live in a world that doesn't want them. </p><p>*Please heed the tags. The tropes being used are done so in an unconventional way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday

Blaine took a step over the rotted, wooden beams, stumbling when the toe of his boot caught and almost sent him face first into the iron frame of his unorthodox pathway. He’d caught himself, readjusting his backpack, his stomach settling from the jolt, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he shuffled on, head hung and eyes downcast. He counted his steps, one, two, three, four, five, six...left, right, left, right, left.

The tracks were rusted over, overgrown in some areas as nature attempted to reclaim them. The trains didn’t run anymore, so Blaine harbored no fear of becoming victim to one of the great, electric-powered, metal beasts. He also knew he’d go undetected by anyone who might go looking for him. The tracks had been long-abandoned, left vacant decades ago. He’d heard the stories, had learned about the great network that was once the roots of the nation, along which many a city had grown as America in its infancy expanded westward.

He’d laughed to himself bitterly at the thought that something that had once been so significant could be forsaken, left to decay and ruin without a second thought. Perhaps it was too easy to forget, too easy to replace what was once something so cherished and loved...when it didn't serve its creators in the way they’d once dreamed, when it became obsolete, irrelevant. When it became disappointing.

Now it was just a large system of jagged scars across the face and body of the country. Now it was just the sanctuary, a pathway through the trees, just out of reach of civilization, for accidental vagabonds like Blaine.

When he finally turned his face up again, Blaine froze, adrenaline shooting hot through his veins, his hair standing on end on his arms and neck. A short distance ahead of him, sat crumpled and hunched over upon the rail, eerily unmoving, was a person with a shock of pink color in his hair that stood out from the overwhelmingly black clothing in which the rest of his body was covered.

Cautiously, Blaine approached the stranger who startled and snapped his head up to take in Blaine. Blaine gazed upon the boy whose eyes were wide and fearful, taking in his striking features, milky, pale complexion, and glints of metal poking through his face at intervals.

Blaine licked his lips, parting them to dare to speak, not knowing what to expect.

“Hey.”

No answer, just an unwavering, wide-eyed ambiguous glare.

“I didn't think I’d run into anyone out here. Like, at all.”

With great apprehension, the boy with the fading pink streak in his hair rose from his seat on the iron.

Blaine shuffled his feet in place out of reflex to the boy’s movement. “My name’s Blaine by the way. In case you were wondering.”

The other boy took a step to the side, staring down Blaine.

“Is there something wrong with you? I mean, I guess you’d have to be pretty crazy to pull a stunt like this, coming out here where no one can hear you scream if anything were to happen.” He grinned crookedly, his eyes alight with humor.

The boy tilted his head to the side, as if considering Blaine, a smirk twitching at his lips at Blaine’s words.

Blaine then dared to ask. “Do you...do you not speak?”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought the boy rolled his eyes.

Pale-and-Pink reached his hand into his pocket. Blaine suddenly felt nervous, again aware of the potential danger this stranger could be to him. But something allowed him to open his mouth yet again, to trust and continue speaking.

“Perhaps some people speak too much, like me. I ramble. Can’t help it. I always feel like I have to explain myself, always need to fill the silences to keep my mind at ease. You can tell me to shut up, or, well, not.”

The boy let out a laugh.

It was the most pleasant sound Blaine had heard in a long time, though he couldn’t be sure the meaning behind it, with the boy’s hand still in his pocket.

Much to Blaine’s relief, the boy pulled out a slightly crushed box of cigarettes, flipped the top flap up, pulled one out and placed it gently between his thin, chapped lips, and then produced a lighter from the inside breast pocket of his leather jacket. He lit the end and then took a long drag, his eyes downcast as he breathed in deeply. After exhaling and emptying the smoke from his lungs, Pale-and-Pink turned his eyes back up.

Then he finally spoke, his voice scratchy from disuse and the cigarette. “What do ya,” he cleared his throat, “what do you have in your bag?” He gestured with the hand holding the cigarette.

“Oh, here.” Blaine let it slide off his back, unzipped the main pocket and rummaged through it, eventually setting it down on the ground, kneeling, and pulling it open for the boy to get a good view inside.

He took a few steps toward Blaine. “You've got food?”

“Yeah, yeah. Right here.”

The boy reached into the bag and extracted a package of crackers.

“So, uh...”

“Kurt.”

He tore open the package and began to devour its contents as if he’d not eaten in days, yet seemingly savoring every bite.

“Kurt.” Blaine’s heart ached as he watched him eat. “How long have you been out here?”

He continued to scarf down the crackers, merely shrugging in response.

“Where are you headed?” Blaine tried again.

Another shrug. He didn't know.

“We should keep moving now,” was all Kurt was willing to give as an answer after a long silence.

“We?” Blaine said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a partial grin.

Kurt nodded, slowly, but with a resolute certainty. He tossed the now empty package of crackers to the ground.

At that, Blaine zipped up his bag, pulled the straps up over his shoulders again, and then took a few steps forward, following after Kurt who had already begun to amble on down the narrow tracks. Eventually they fell into step, and Blaine soon focused on the pattern of his own feet falling and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The world around them was quiet.


	2. Friday

They’d walked until the sun fell away behind the star-spotted veil of night, continuing on in comfortable silence until their feet were sore. They’d walked until the sun rose up over the horizon again, the frost that had formed on the grass melting and morphing into dew before their eyes.

The sun’s welcomed rays warmed the skin on Blaine’s face and illuminated the new growth of hair that had sprung up over the course of the past few hours. Following Kurt’s lead, they finally halted their progress and stopped to rest. Every one of Blaine’s limbs was exhausted, and he wondered when they might sleep, his mouth stretching wide with a yawn at the thought.

Kurt reached his hand out toward Blaine, his fingertips lightly grazing his cheek, but then withdrew it, rummaging in his pants pocket for his pack of cigarettes that was resting snugly against his thigh. But he didn’t really want one right now. He’d just thought he should busy his hands.

Blaine had tensed at the touch, but then a heat blossomed in his face.

“Look at this scruff you have on your face.” Kurt pointed with an unlit cigarette. His voice was softer than it had been, almost doting. “You’re beginning to look like a true runaway now.”

“Unluckily, I didn’t think to pack certain commodities. You wouldn’t happen to have a razor, would you?” Blaine asked, and then he watched Kurt’s face go blank and then fall.

“I ran out of razors last week.” He gently shook his head. “In fact, I don’t have much of anything left now.” This time he reached for his lighter and lit the cigarette with unsteady hands.

Kurt’s sleeve slid down about an inch or so, and Blaine’s eyes grew wide at the sight it revealed, a deliberate, all-too-familiar blemish on the otherwise smooth skin of his wrist.

“You have it.”

“Pardon?” Kurt said, tensing at Blaine’s comment.

“You have a brand.”

Kurt exhaled, his body relaxing a little. “Bravo, we have an observant one here,” he said nonchalantly. “What’s it to you if I do?”

“I’m sorry, I just -”

Kurt turned and really looked at Blaine, taking in his golden eyes, small frame, and too neat dark hair and tanned skin. His features softened as he wondered about the polished boy. “Why are you even out here anyway?”

Quietly, but without hesitation, he admitted, “I have one too, Kurt.”

Kurt felt a tightness in his chest as his heart rate increased at the confession.

“Then you really must tell me your story now.”

Blaine clasped his hands together, wringing them, and then set them on his thighs, distractedly smoothing out the material of his pants. “It was - it was only a few months ago. I thought I was going to be killed.” He swallowed. Blaine pulled up his own sleeve to reveal the scar. “I was sure they would kill me. I had been sent to this all-boys boarding school, Dalton Academy, like I was meant to become something, meant to be someone better. Th-they caught me, caught me fucking around with some guy in the dorm.”

“Just ‘some guy’? That sounds sweet.”

“He wasn’t really just ‘some guy’. He had a name. Those details aren’t important.”

“If the characters in your story don’t have a name, then what’s that any good for?”

“We put names on things we wish to remember, that hold significance for us. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t mean anything to me.” Blaine repeated, feeling like he had to explain himself in the face of Kurt’s judgment.

“Sorry to hear that.” Kurt took a few drags of his cigarette. It was almost burned down to the filter now.

“And when they marked me with this, the other boys knew what I was. I couldn’t walk through the halls without being spat at. Sometimes shoved or tripped.”

Kurt thought of some of his own bruises, the ones he had possessed in the past, placed on him by his classmates’ callous hands, the soles and toes of their spiteful shoe-clad feet. Cruelty begets cruelty. Or it completely breaks a person.

“I tried to go home. They didn’t want me either. I was a disgrace to my parents, and I had never felt like such utter garbage in my life.”

Kurt stamped out the used-up cigarette beneath the hard rubber sole of his boot.

“Where did you go, then? It’s obvious you haven’t been out here all this time.”

“A friend took me in.”

“Does he also not have a name? Assuming it’s a ‘he’,” Kurt muttered.

“He does. Jeremiah. He’s older than I am. Has his own place with a roommate. They’re...they’re like us.”

“I see.”

“I stayed there for a while, began to get comfortable. He lived a lifestyle much differently than the one I had known. That’s when I began getting these.” Blaine lifted the other sleeve now to reveal a small tattoo, a treble clef inked into the sensitive flesh of his wrist.

“You have others?” Kurt questioned, his mind suddenly getting away from him as it conjured up images of ink on the vast canvas of skin hidden from his view. He absentmindedly licked his lips.

“Just a few. I just felt like I needed to add more, to reclaim my own body, mark my own skin after I was marked. It became a bit of an addiction.”

Kurt snorted. “I know a little about those.”

“Tattoos?”

“Addictions. And ink.”

Blaine was silent for a moment, the smell of cigarette smoke still lingering in the air around them and settling on their clothing. He began to open his mouth to speak again, but Kurt interrupted his process.

“If you had such a cozy life and set up, then why did you leave?”

“I couldn’t stay for very long. You know what they say about guests and fish,” Blaine proffered. Kurt raised an inquisitive eyebrow, slowly shaking his head. “They begin to stink...? Never mind. After being there for a few months, I just felt like I was in the way. I was invading Jeremiah’s privacy and space, eating his food and using his stuff, and I could just tell that he wasn’t happy I was still there.”

“And that’s why you’re out here.”

Blaine nodded once. “That’s why I’m out here.”

“Dumb move, but whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Kurt grinned, and Blaine laughed, at himself, at his predicament, and at the tears that he’d been holding back. Today was not their day either, and they could stay bottled up so long as he could find humor in his situation.

At least it seemed that Kurt could.

And perhaps that was all he would need to get through it, whatever this was.


	3. Saturday

After settling down and eating more of Blaine’s already dwindling rations, they’d finally slept, a few feet off from each other, curled up in a ratty old blanket pulled from Kurt’s bag and a soft throw Blaine had taken from his parents’ house. Their bags served a dual purpose as lumpy, only slightly comfortable pillows for their heads.

Blaine woke up with a stiff neck and a sharp pain in his side. Kurt was already up, frantically digging through his bag. His entire body was trembling, and Blaine thought he looked close to tears.  

“Fuck,” Kurt grumbled, followed by indiscernible mutterings. “Fuck!” He tossed the now empty, crumpled cigarette box to the ground and kicked it with a boot-clad foot in his frustration. The glaring sun on top of his nicotine shortage was beginning to make his head pound.

Blaine could smell that Kurt had already indulged in a smoke, so Kurt’s panic puzzled him.

“It’s no use to get yourself all worked up.”

“Don’t,” Kurt warned, his eyes flashing with a quiet menace.

Blaine stood tight-lipped, choosing to refrain. He hoped his silence would allow Kurt to cool down, and he rifled through his bag, pulling out and offering him some chewing gum instead, something for him to keep his mouth occupied. Kurt took it reluctantly, wrenching the pack from Blaine’s grip.

He chewed it with a scowl on his face and then huffed out a quiet thanks.

They gathered up their belongings, folding up the blankets and shoving them carelessly into their bags. With a groan, Blaine rose to his feet and began to hobble down the tracks alongside Kurt.

Blaine could already feel blisters forming on the soles of his feet despite the added comfort of his leather motorcycle boots. He didn’t ride. Never even owned a bike, but he’d splurged on them because they looked sturdy and stylish. Though impractical to his lifestyle, Blaine thought they suited him.

Kurt’s silence seemed to amplify Blaine’s small discomforts and cause his dull aches and pains to become excruciating. Without conversation to distract him, his physical state was all he could focus on, and walking did nothing but put wear on his entire body.

Counting his steps wasn’t even working anymore, and he massaged his temples in attempt to alleviate a headache.

Blaine made several attempts to provoke Kurt to talk to him, but each time he was met with a grunt or a glare, if he was lucky enough to receive a response at all.

For the first time, the smell of stale tobacco smoke and soil on their skin and unwashed clothes began to irritate Blaine. Everything about his miserable, brutish companion was beginning to get under his skin. Blaine scratched at his cheek, feeling the coarse hair there, and he wished he could scrape it off with his fingernails.

Blaine kicked at a rock and it went airborne, hitting Kurt’s calf and bouncing off to skitter to the side.

Kurt froze, letting out a guttural groan. “Why can’t you take a hint? It’s bad enough I ran out of smokes.” He turned to round on Blaine. “And now I’d like it if you stopped bothering me!”

“You knew it would happen eventually. Besides, you’ve already had one today,” Blaine tried to reason. For what? He wasn’t sure.

“Unless you’ve got something to say that’s worth my time, kindly shut _up_.” His nostrils were flaring like a bull ready to charge, but Blaine, stubborn as he was, didn’t back down.

Blaine rose up to his full height, although still losing to Kurt by at least an inch and appearing less intimidating than intended, and his inability to keep his mouth shut took over him. He clenched his fist at his side.

“If we’re going to be traveling together, then I don’t know how to handle you like this.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kurt spat. He threw his hands up. “I’m just a regular headcase!”

“It’s not my fault you’re having a meltdown over a freakin’ cancer stick!” Blaine found himself shouting back.

“Who even calls them that, you self-righteous prick?!”

“This fucker right here!” And then, finally reaching his limit and feeling like something had taken over his body, Blaine reached out and shoved Kurt, sending him akilter and stumbling backward. He was feeling restless, hungry, desperate. Blaine wasn’t thinking straight.

“What’s wrong with you!?” Kurt grabbed Blaine’s arm and flung him around, shoving him back.

“Yeah, see? You’ve got it in you too. Get it all out,” Blaine egged him on. He felt crazy.

“Keep your hands off me, you bastard,” he said through gritted teeth.

Kurt pulled back and slapped Blaine open-handed across the cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the trees.

They both froze, Kurt’s breathing heavy as he stared wide-eyed at the red mark slowly rising to Blaine’s skin roughly in the shape of his hand. And then he let out a choked whimper.

Blaine’s skin was aflame and began to sting. He was rendered speechless, completely taken aback, unable to retaliate and unwilling to.

The shift in expression on Kurt’s face was like watching a dam slowly crack under the unrelenting force of the water behind it, his blue eyes beginning to shake and his bottom lip tremble. Blaine watched as tears sprung to Kurt’s eyes, and then he flung himself forward at Blaine who caught him in his arms, wrapping him up tightly, and held him up against his body.

Feeling the full weight of the boy, Blaine squeezed harder, feeling like he needed to, to let him know he was there.

“It’s all my fault. There’s nothing I can do. It’s all my fault,” Kurt stammered, pressing his face into Blaine’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so so sorry,” Blaine muttered into Kurt’s hair, rubbing circles by his shoulder blades and quietly shushing him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again and until the words no longer had meaning.

Ever since it had happened, Blaine had been reliving the way Kurt had touched his cheek the previous day, the sensation lingering and sending a blush to his face whenever he looked at his companion. But now there was pain in its place, dealt just as easily.  

He knew the hand that struck him was capable of tenderness.

Blaine clung onto Kurt almost as tightly as Kurt clung onto him.

 


	4. Sunday

The bright, pale sky they’d awoken under was gradually darkening. Inky clouds drifted nearer, hanging ominously above them, blotting out the sun, and there was a distinct almost metallic smell in the air, one that always filled Kurt with dread.

“Ah, what the hell. That was definitely a drop of rain. And there’s another two.” Kurt squinted as he looked upward toward the sky, his mouth hanging partially open.

Blaine shoved his hands in his pockets. “Looks like it’s gonna pour. You got a plan?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s find some sort of shelter, shall we?” Blaine said with only a hint of sarcasm.

Kurt was scanning the area, calculating. “What are you waiting for? _Run_.”

Kurt took off as heavier drops began to fall, and soon the rain was descending in curtains, crashing into and splashing off the metal and wooden beams of the tracks, beginning to drench the earth. Blaine sped off after him, struggling to keep him in his sight through the water getting caught in his lashes and running into his eyes. Then Kurt veered off the path to the right, leaping over a shallow ditch and ducking down and slipping into what appeared to be a large sewer drain pipe.

Blaine caught up, his chest heaving, throat dry, and lungs aching.

“Well, what are you still doing out there?” Kurt shouted. “Get in, dummy.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, and then he climbed carefully down, not wanting to lose his grip or his footing, until he was inside the dark, cast iron pipe. The mouth of the pipe was at least six feet in diameter, and Blaine was amazed that such a thing even existed. It was relatively dry inside, and there was just enough light entering in for him to make out Kurt’s features.

“God, the rain is s-so cold.” Kurt was shivering and shaking, his teeth chattering as he wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his upper arms tightly through his jacket. He slowly sat down, bringing his knees to his chest in attempt to conserve body heat.

“Maybe, I could...” Without another word, Blaine squatted down and scooted over to Kurt, huddling up next to him. Hesitantly, he lifted an arm and draped it around the boy’s shoulders, allowing it to slide down and wind around his waist. When he was met with no opposition, Blaine relaxed.

They sat there in silence, watching and listening to the rain fall just beyond the opening of their cylindrical shelter. The coppery scent of rust and wet, decaying foliage filled the space around them and invaded their noses.

Blaine’s stomach gurgled, and he finally removed his arm from Kurt, inching away to go rummaging through his bag for a remedy. After downing nearly half a bottle of water, he offered the rest to Kurt who took it willingly.

Blaine wiped at his mouth with his damp sleeve. His eyes shifted back towards Kurt who was still curled up, his knees pressed to his chest and chin set atop his knees.

Kurt absentmindedly lifted his hand to his face and began pinching and twisting the metal that had been forced through it. There were two small, barely noticeable metal spikes protruding from below each end of his bottom lip.

But Blaine noticed. And his stomach did this uncomfortable, queasy flip as he watched.

“Why would you put those holes through your pretty face...and your mouth?”

Kurt turned his gaze on Blaine, narrowing his eyes. “No one fucks with snakes, now do they.”

Blaine began to laugh, but it died in his throat when he saw the look in Kurt’s eyes. “But didn’t it hurt?”

“It always hurts. Sometimes, like hell.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“The same reason you did.”

Blaine paused. “I didn’t, not in my face, anyway. But I - I still don’t think I understand.”

“Because when we do it to ourselves, at least we can own it.”

“Yeah,” Blaine breathed. He was no stranger to needles and the pain they inflicted. In fact, he had welcomed them to puncture and prick his skin on enough occasions that he was now numb to it. But seeing how Kurt had chosen to receive that pain affected him in a way he couldn’t fathom.

“There was a point when I wanted to make myself unrecognizable,” Kurt spoke softly. “It takes guts to do that and effort to try to change yourself. I figured, I was already despised for who I was, so why not become something even more despicable? Something to fear?”

“I get that.” Blaine fingered the buckle on his boot, the corner of his mouth twitching up at a memory. “When I got out of Dalton, I wanted to look like I could kick someone’s ass. Mostly, I just wanted to be left alone. Too much for a fag boy to ask.” He turned his head and spat, almost as if to spit the word he’d uttered from his mouth and rid it from his being.

“Why do you think we’re called degenerates? Freaks, and perverts?” Kurt asked so brokenly that Blaine was alarmed and looked back toward him, wearing an expression filled with concern.

Kurt touched the mark on his wrist through his clothing.  

“I don’t look at you and think any of those things. I see so much more. I see kindness, I see life and beauty.” Blaine wasn’t sure where those words were coming from, but they were spoken out of truth.

“Don’t flatter me, Blaine,” Kurt said. It was the first time he had called him by his name.

“I’m being honest, but don’t get used to it.” Blaine smirked, and Kurt snorted. “Well, why do _you_ think we’re likened to scum?”

“I know why they do it. There are all these names we’re given so people can label, belittle, and claim us, put us in this little box and shove us into a place where they have power over us.”

“Kurt.”

“What?”

“Kurt is the only name I’ll ever call you.”

“Thank you. Blaine.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out now,” he said with a pleasant grin. “Or do.”

Kurt smiled, his eyes downcast.

Blaine cleared his throat. “So, you’ve got some ink too?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a few.” Kurt began to remove his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders. When it slid down his arms, instead of exposing ivory skin, there was a beautiful display of colors and shapes, not much of which Blaine could make out clearly while straining his eyes in the semi-darkness. Kurt’s left arm from his shoulder and nearly to his wrist was decorated in a sleeve of intricate designs, each image running flawlessly one into the other.

Blaine’s eyes were wide in awe. “That must have taken years to get done.”

Kurt nodded. “I got a little here and there.”

“What is it?” Blaine reached out to run his finger down what appeared to be the twisted stem of a rose or a winding vine of some sort. Goosebumps rose on Kurt’s skin at the touch.

“It’s a garden. It started with a vine of thorns, winding like a snake up my arm. I got it to cover up a scar from one of the times I was tossed into a dumpster by some assholes at school. Caught my arm on some broken glass. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Blaine winced at the thought. “I bet.”

“Needless to say, it grew from there. Every time they’d beat on me, take something from me, I’d put something back. Every last piece of this...” Lost in thought, he looked down and began tracing a finger along different shapes and sections. Kurt turned stone-faced and seemed to shut down, but then he looked back up at Blaine. “What about yours? You said you had others besides that one on your wrist,” he said as he pulled his jacket back on.

Blaine laughed. “Yours make mine look like temporary tattoos. I, uh, I have one on my arm too. I’m not going to strip right now though,” he said with a smirk and a wink. It was Kurt’s turn to laugh. “It’s a yellow canary...a caged canary.”

“Why?”

Blaine shrugged. “I guess I thought it was symbolic or something. Of how I felt.”

“A caged songbird?”

“Yeah. Before I got my mark,” Blaine began wistfully, “I was in my school’s choir. Music is a big thing to me, you see, and I feel like it’s part of my soul. When I sing, I just feel...completely free. But they took that away from me when they turned me in. They took everything away from me.”

“But they’re such frail, little things, canaries.”

“I guess that’s why they’re so easy to cage.”

The rain pitter-pattered on the exterior of the pipe as puddles formed all around their pathway. Kurt slumped down onto his side, curling around his bag set beneath his head, and his eyelids grew heavy and eventually fluttered and fell shut to the beating of the steady rhythm. 

Blaine remained awake, listening to the soft puffs of air escaping Kurt’s slightly parted lips. His eyes were no longer trained on the world outside, but on the boy whose skin seemed to be glowing in the dim light. He watched his chest rise ever so slightly and fall with ease, and Blaine was suddenly filled with an immense, irrational fear that Kurt’s breathing could cease. He had the urge to shake him awake, but he held himself back.

At least he could rest. He looked so peaceful, and Blaine hoped that the sinister phantoms in his head didn’t dare visit.


	5. Monday

The ground was still soggy and soft from yesterday’s rain, and their boots were coated in mud and muck that was drying hard in the sun. Just lifting their feet was becoming more taxing, significantly slowing the pace of their trek onward.

Despite the return of the sun and the heat, Kurt was shivering incessantly. Their clothing was still a bit damp, but they both knew his ailment wasn’t from lack of warmth. Kurt was shaking from nicotine withdrawal, from denying his body the poisons to which it had become so accustomed.

Blaine was afraid Kurt could take a turn for the worse, that his symptoms could become more serious, and he had no idea how to handle him or take care of him if that did happen. All he knew was that he wanted to think about anything but their current circumstances and to force Kurt to rest his strung-out body, so he racked his brain for a way to stall their progress.

“I know you wanna keep moving, Kurt, but I’ve got a cramp in my side.”

When Kurt turned to look, he rolled his eyes when he saw Blaine gripping his side, wearing an over dramatic pained expression on his face, and moving with a slight limp in his gait.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “We can rest for a few minutes.”

Blaine groaned as they sat down across from each other on the parallel rails. Kurt’s hands traveled habitually toward the pockets of his pants, but he ran his palms over them and patted his thighs at the absence of a box. He began to chew on the inside of his mouth, his eyes shifting around as if searching for something. More and more, Blaine wondered what had caused Kurt to reach the state he was in and how he’d found himself out here.

“So, what’s your story? Why did you, you know, run?” Blaine asked, breaking the silence.

Kurt’s hands were clasped tightly in his lap and his arms were tensed as if he was trying to still the aches and spasms racking his body. It took a very long time for Kurt to respond. “I felt, well, the only way I can describe it is stagnant.”

“Like, stuck?”

“Something like that.” He fell quiet again.

Blaine felt like he was losing him.

“Kurt,” Blaine said to recapture his attention.

“What?”

“I know it’s really none of my business, and you don’t have to tell me a damn thing, but...what happened to you?”

He shrugged, and Blaine felt a surge of annoyance at his reluctance to give a proper answer.

“Sometimes I forget...I mean, I haven’t really forgotten, I’ve just chosen not to remember.”

Blaine placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, patting it before withdrawing his hand. “I’m sorry, forget I even asked -”

But Kurt interrupted him, continuing on as if Blaine wasn’t even there.

“In fact, my memory is solid. I can remember details about things that no person should. Like, exactly where I sat in my kindergarten classroom and that time I instinctively flinched when my teacher raised her hand above me, anticipating something and completely misreading the gesture. She was merely pointing at something on the computer screen, part of the alphabet game I was playing.”

“You thought she, that a teacher was going to hurt you?” Blaine said quietly, furrowing his brow.

“I got my mark when I was only five.”

Blaine’s breath hitched. “How old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“I can’t - I can’t even imagine.”

“My parents loved me, and they meant well. They were being law-abiding citizens. But, when you’re a child, when you’re that young, you don’t know any better. You don’t know that the people who are supposed to love you are hurting you. And you always think it’s because you’ve done something wrong.”

“They found out you were gay and they turned you in,” Blaine said, more a realization than a question. “They let it happen. But you were only a child.”

Kurt nodded. He swallowed hard. “It’s worse when it’s the people who gave you life who are letting it all happen to you. You would think that they would fight harder.”

“I wish mine had. If my mother had just told me to stay...” Blaine shook his head and blinked hard, hot tears finally finding their way to his eyes. “But she just _stood_ there and watched me walk out. I want to believe that she still loved me, that she’d just been following my bastard father.” Blaine sniffled and wiped at his nose and face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Shit. I’m sorry, Kurt. You never told me why you actually left home and ran away.”

“I told you. I felt like I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Then you were an idiot for leaving for a shit reason like that when you had two parents who loved you and wanted you there.”

“My mom is dead. She’s been gone for years. My dad was okay, but it always felt like there was a phantom in the house, the ill memories of what it meant for me and how they would always view me now. And I wasn’t going anywhere. School was thankless. People were cruel and unforgiving and too afraid to get close. So I left.”

Blaine had no response, and he didn’t feel he needed to say anything.

A bit of the patch of pink hair at the front of Kurt’s head was hanging limply, arcing over his brow and nearly concealing his eyes. Blaine brought his hand to Kurt’s face, and then he brushed his hair away from his forehead, causing Kurt to lift his eyes to meet Blaine’s before bashfully shifting his head to the side and batting his lashes.

Blaine smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I can see you’re finally letting your walls come down.”

“God, now you sound like a cheesy pop song.” Kurt’s face flushed a deep crimson, and he tried to conceal a grin.


	6. Tuesday

The sun was glaring down, penetrating the thin veil of Kurt’s eyelids and making it impossible to even feign sleep anymore. He blinked open his eyes and squinted, staring blankly up at the leaves and branches of the trees that towered above him. A light breeze blew through, sending the leaves gently swaying, and then it passed and they grew still again.

Kurt rolled over and sniffed at himself, lifting his arm to see just how much his deodorant had faded over night. “Ugh, I stink to high Heaven.”

Blaine yawned, smacking his lips, and then pulled himself up into a sitting position to grin slyly at Kurt. “I don’t think there’s anything heavenly about it.”

Kurt let out a brief, bitter laugh. “Good thing I still have some soap left, but it won’t do us any good without water.”

“If we keep moving, we could get lucky.”

Sure enough, once they’d gathered themselves and walked for about a mile down the tracks, Kurt paused like a musing dog with a scent in its nose, and then his face lit up.

“Aha!” He pointed off to the left. “Right down there! I can hear a stream or something.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, because I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long so filthy.” Blaine grimaced, looking down at the state of his clothing. He ran a hand through his curls, his fingers catching the excess of oils.

“Honey, it’s something you get used to. Though, I’ll admit, it’s not preferable.”

“What are we waiting for? I want to get this stench and grime off my skin too.”

“We?” Kurt said, side-eying Blaine. “Who says I’m willing to share?”

“You don’t need to. I’m just going to help myself and do what I have to do.”

“I bet you will.”

“I have my own soap anyway.” Blaine crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at Kurt, though it made him feel childish.

Kurt looked right at Blaine this time, his eyes dancing with a sort of mischief, like a dog daring its companion to take up the chase, and then Kurt took off running, stumbling but then catching himself to regain his balance as he ran down the incline toward the water.

Blaine did take up the chase, and, with a brief, boisterous laugh, he was off and on Kurt’s tail, his bag thumping against his back with each footfall made heavier by the curve of the land.

Kurt reached the water’s edge first, and he stripped off his jacket without delay, but then paused suddenly. He twisted around to see Blaine coming to a halt behind him, fighting to catch his breath.

Kurt set his bag down and dug out the few products he had left. He placed his hands on the waistband of his pants, beginning to undo his button and zipper, and then he cleared his throat loudly. He turned his head, narrowing his eyes at Blaine who hadn’t moved.

“Turn around.”

Blaine smirked. “As if you have anything to hide.”

Kurt huffed. “Maybe I do.”

“Fine. I’ll be a gentleman.”

Blaine turned his back as Kurt began to strip down, peeling off layers of black, maroon, and violet garments. Once he was stark naked, he stepped carefully into the stream, ducking to wet as much of his body as possible in its meager depths.

Then, like a child unable to fight the impulse to peek through his fingers during a game of hide and seek, Blaine, now stripped down to his boxer briefs, ventured a gander at Kurt. He was met with those icy blue eyes and a knowing grin. Blaine gulped.

He made his way down to the bank, his toes only inches from the water, and then shimmied out of his underwear, fully aware that Kurt was being just as generous with the gawking as he was.

Kurt’s eyes made a quick scan of Blaine’s form and then stopped when he caught sight of something, a mostly white tattoo in the shape of what looked like a bird on the boy’s inner thigh. He closed his eyes and snapped his head back to face the other way. Kurt continued to bathe with what few toiletries he had left, fully aware that Blaine was still being a shameless spectator. But he didn't mind the attention.

Blaine’s eyes were tracing the tattoos on Kurt’s arm all the way up to his shoulder and then down the side of his back where they continued. Exposed like this in daylight, Blaine could clearly see all that was hidden before. His stomach turned as he recalled what Kurt had said about why he’d gotten them, but he didn't dwell on it. He took in the curve of Kurt’s waist and hips, butt and thighs, and watched water run down his back in rivulets as Kurt rinsed his face and hair. Kurt was tall and lean, and the wet skin that was untouched by ink appeared luminous and glistened in the sun.

Blaine had to turn away before his body betrayed him.

After shaking his hair dry, Kurt retrieved a change of undershirt, socks, and underwear from the bottom of his bag, and then pulled his clothes back on over his damp skin. After countless days, it felt good to at least have fresh, clean skin and hair, though his clothes were in need of a wash he couldn't give them.

Blaine lingered in the water, but as soon as he saw Kurt finishing up, he splashed water over his hair and face and climbed out of the stream to dress himself.

“You like what you saw?” Kurt said, catching Blaine unaware.

Trying to act nonchalant, Blaine shrugged as he pulled his boots back on. “Maybe.”

Blaine couldn't stop thinking about Kurt’s slender frame, bare and beaded with the water from the stream. He tried to fight away the thoughts, but they continued to resurface as they walked. He soon found himself falling a little behind Kurt, his eyes fixed on his ass. And as he gaped, so many sensory memories were triggered, and images from his time at Dalton flashed in his head, images of being spread out under another boy...

Blaine’s already tight pants began to feel more constricting, and he bit his lip and closed his eyes.

Kurt had let him touch him before, hadn’t he? Blaine felt almost too bold now, his judgment gradually clouding from want and desire to explore with his hands and body what his eyes had only glimpsed.

“You didn't tell me you had more ink down your back,” Blaine said, imagining it through Kurt’s dark layers.

“I have more ink down my back,” Kurt said plainly.

Blaine ignored his remark and pressed on. “I’m just going to be blunt with you. You’re really hot.”

“It is summer,” Kurt said.

“Ass.”

“I have one of those, too.”

“That’s no secret.”

“Like we have any of those now,” Kurt said.

“I might.”

Kurt briefly looked back at Blaine over his shoulder. “You might be trying to keep a lot of things hidden, but there’s one _big_ thing that’s giving you away.”

Blaine blushed. “We have an observant one here,” he said, echoing back Kurt’s own words from a few days prior. He felt his pants grow even tighter to a point of discomfort.

Kurt stopped and turned toward Blaine. His eyes met Blaine’s and then strayed, scanning all the way down his torso and stopping at his groin. He snickered, and Blaine rose his eyebrows questioningly at him.

“You’re right. You do have secrets.” The grin fell away from Kurt’s face, and his expression turned stony. He turned back around and took a few steps forward, promptly picking up his pace.

“Huh? Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”

Kurt didn't answer.

Blaine stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, and then he went racing to catch up with Kurt who was moving at a swift and steady pace.

They walked on in silence for what felt like an eternity, an excruciating handful of minutes, and Blaine wished Kurt would just say something.

“What’s your deal? You decide to be mute again?”

Kurt came to an abrupt stop, nearly tripping up Blaine. He turned his head and glared at Blaine, his eyes smoldering and brimming with something far from hatred.

It was hunger. Pure lust.

Blaine stared him down like a snake about to strike.

Kurt tossed his bag down and struck first, flinging his entire weight against Blaine, nearly knocking him over, and he would have had Blaine not caught him in his arms and then caught his lips in his.

The kiss was rough and uncoordinated, but Blaine took Kurt’s head in his hands and took control, feeling the metal spikes beneath Kurt’s lips graze his face as he pressed his mouth harder against Kurt’s.  

“Why would you get that thing on your thigh?” Kurt said against Blaine’s eager lips. “I couldn't stop thinking about the stupid thing all day.”

Blaine pulled back to gasp for air. “You mean my d - “ But then Kurt was on him again, their mouths crashing and lips and tongues sliding together messily.

Kurt’s hand found Blaine’s groin, and then, with a soft, surprised, “ _oh_ ,” Blaine’s knees gave out, and he stumbled and fell backward, landing roughly in the grass and brush beside the tracks. Kurt’s body was soon on his, his weight pressing him down against the ground as their mouths found each others’ again.

“I just want -” Kurt said through ragged breaths. “I want to see it again, to touch it.” With somewhat clumsy, trembling fingers, Kurt tugged at the button and fly of Blaine’s pants, unzipping the zipper and peeling them away from his hips.

“Let me -” Blaine slid his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans and pulled his pants down below the curve of his ass, leaving them to rest and gather down around his knees.

Kurt sat up, his head bowed and eyes staring intently as he ran a hand up Blaine’s inner left thigh from his knee to the leg of his boxer briefs. He pressed his thumb against the small tattoo there, causing Blaine’s legs to fall apart and to the sides, and then trailed his index finger around the outline of the image.

Blaine shivered. His cock was straining against his boxer briefs, a wet spot forming at the front as Kurt’s face hovered closer. He closed his eyes tightly.

Up close, it was actually quite beautiful. Kurt examined the image of a white dove in flight, wondering what the story behind this one was.

“You have a thing for birds or something?” Kurt teased.

Blaine shivered again when Kurt stroked the sensitive area with his thumb. “I won’t deny it.”

Kurt laughed. His gaze traveled upward and lingered on the bulge in Blaine’s underwear. His breath hitched, and he licked his lips. “I do too.”

Then Kurt was on Blaine again, kissing his mouth, along his jawline and neck, licking and sucking at a patch of skin just above the collar of his shirt. Blaine wriggled underneath him, kicking off his boots and pants the rest of the way. Kurt kept his mouth occupied as he worked to undo and remove his own boots, pants, and jacket.

“Please, just -” Blaine inhaled sharply. “Will you take them off for me?”

Kurt bit his bottom lip too hard, tasting blood, and nodded before stripping Blaine of his underwear and finally freeing his cock, which sprung up and bobbed in the open air. The scent and sight was unbelievably arousing, and Kurt wanted to taste him. He lowered his head, inhaled deeply, and then dared a lick along the base, trailing up to the head.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Blaine gasped, his eyes flying open at the unusual sensation. “What did you just -?”

Kurt ran his tongue up Blaine’s length again and then lifted his head and face with his tongue still extended, revealing a round, metal stud. He pulled it back in and let out a laugh.

“It’s pierced.”

“I see _and_ feel that,” Blaine said. “God, Kurt.”

“I’m glad it’s good for something.”

Kurt began to lower his head again, but Blaine stopped him, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back a little.

Kurt furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to do that. It’ll be over too soon, and I -” Blaine hesitated. “Can I...I want to see you.”

Kurt nodded, and Blaine sat up, shifting around as Kurt laid back in the grass. Blaine crawled forward, straddling Kurt, and ran his hands up under his shirt and across his abdomen, feeling the light dusting of hair beneath his navel.

“Blaine,” Kurt said meekly. “I want you to fuck me.”

Kurt sounded so broken that Blaine felt conflicted, though he wanted nothing more than to be with Kurt, on top of him, inside of him, if that’s what he wanted.

“I, uh, I don’t suppose you have anything...? I mean, to be safe?”

Kurt threw his head back and let out an almost derisive laugh and then stopped dead. “No. Less talk, more of your hands and mouth on me. I can’t believe of all things you’re concerned about safety.”

“I can’t, Kurt. I can’t do this if I don’t feel comfortable.”

“Because rolling around in dead leaves with stones in your back is comfortable. It’s going to be fine.”

“How do you know? Are you clean?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been tested...?”

Kurt slowly shook his head. “I’ve never had sex.”

Blaine’s stomach was uneasy, but he quelled the feeling by putting his hands on Kurt again and giving into his body’s urges. He kissed along the waistband of Kurt’s briefs, pulling them down as he mouthed at his hip bone.

Blaine was terrified. He would never admit to Kurt that he had never done this before.

The slow drag of his fingertips up the length of Kurt’s cock elicited a low whimper from Kurt, and Blaine felt him grow harder under his touch. Kurt gasped as Blaine firmly wrapped his hand around his length and stroked him a few times.

He feigned confidence to keep Kurt as comfortable as possible, trying his best to do what had only ever been done to him.

Blaine licked his palm and grasped Kurt again, leaning over him to kiss his mouth. He let go to run his hand up to Kurt’s nipple, feeling it harden under his fingertips. Kurt arched his back, his erection brushing against Blaine’s and causing Blaine to groan and roll his hips down to grind against him.

Blaine ran a finger along the crevice of Kurt’s ass, applying a bit of pressure by the puckered muscle there. He spit on his hand again, lightly sucking on his fingers before returning them to Kurt’s bottom, and Kurt’s legs spread apart at the touch.

Kurt sucked in air between his teeth as Blaine gingerly pushed one finger inside of him.

“Just try to relax,” Blaine said, though he knew it couldn’t possibly be easy.

Kurt didn’t respond, but he took a deep, quivering breath.

Blaine continued to work Kurt open, pushing a second finger in once he felt him begin to loosen up. When he began to thrust his fingers in deeper, Kurt let out soft grunts and whines.

“More...?”

“Yeah,” Kurt breathed.

Blaine withdrew his fingers, lined himself up, and slowly, cautiously pushed himself partially inside of Kurt. It was hot and tight, and Blaine had never known this sensation before. It was overwhelming. It felt amazing, and he tried his best not to thrust in too deep, too fast.

“It burns,” Kurt said. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as Blaine began to move inside him. He wasn’t sure how or when this was supposed to feel good.

“It always hurts at first,” Blaine said.

A tear rolled down from the corner of Kurt’s eye as he turned his head to the side and tried to take his mind off the pain and focus on the feeling of being full. Gradually, it began to feel better, and Kurt felt jolts of pleasure throughout his body.

Blaine lifted Kurt’s legs up, gripping the bottom of his thighs, adjusted himself, and pushed in deeper, bottoming out. The sun was at Blaine’s back, and the heat and friction worked him to a sweat, beads forming on his brow and dripping down from his hair as he continued to move inside of Kurt. His pace quickened as he fucked into Kurt, whose body jerked upward with the force of each thrust. It became rougher, and Kurt felt the ground hard beneath his back as it scraped across stones and twigs embedded in the dirt.

“I’m c-close, Kurt,” Blaine managed as wave after wave of pleasure surged through him. He tried not to be greedy as he fucked harder into Kurt, craving and needing release. With a few more thrusts, he came with a loud moan, shuddering through his orgasm.

Kurt was still breathing heavily, his cock swollen and aching as Blaine pulled out, leaving a mess and Kurt feeling strangely empty.

When Kurt reached his hand down to take care of himself, Blaine grabbed his wrist.

“I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Blaine took Kurt into his mouth and sucked lazily, still feeling the aftereffects of his own orgasm. Kurt tangled his fingers in the thick curls at the back of Blaine's head as Blaine moved his tongue in a practiced way, bobbing his head and bringing Kurt to climax in a matter of minutes.

Kurt's orgasm pulsed through him, and he came into Blaine’s mouth. Blaine swallowed it down, pulling off and wiping at his mouth.

He collapsed onto the ground beside Kurt, his body supine and face to the sky. Blaine tried to not think about how filthy they both were again after just bathing, his breathing beginning to even out as they laid there unspeaking.

Kurt couldn't interpret the mess of emotions he was feeling, but as he laid there, he felt so vulnerable. But he’d allowed Blaine to enter him, had begged him to. He closed his eyes as he reveled in the ghost of Blaine’s touch.

The silence between them felt almost sacred, and both were afraid to break it.

Kurt sat up first, pulling his pants and boots back on, but he left his jacket off and folded it neatly. His tattoos and his brand were now completely exposed to the world, but he didn't care. Who was he really hiding it from now? Blaine?

There was nothing left to hide from Blaine.

With some difficulty, Kurt rose to his feet and brushed off his clothing. He lifted his bag off the ground from where it had been so carelessly discarded, placed his jacket inside, and then zipped it back up.

“We should retrace our steps and go back to that stream,” Kurt said.

“That’s a really good idea.”

-s-

As the sun began to set, they stepped into the water, completely bare once again. But this time it was different; there was no shame and no more curiosity. They just were, the two of them, comfortable enough to be vulnerable in each others’ presence.

Blaine turned his back on Kurt and squatted down to scrub at his arms and legs.

When Blaine felt fingers begin to run through his hair, he tensed up, initially shocked, but then his eyes fell closed and he let out a soft moan. Kurt gently worked and lathered the shampoo through his wet curls and massaged his scalp, scraping his fingernails ever so gently across it.

When he was done, Blaine rinsed his hair and rose to his feet, his expression softening as he gazed into Kurt’s eyes. He took the cloth from Kurt’s hand and ducked down, turning Kurt around to face away from him. Blaine cleaned Kurt up, dabbing and wiping gently at his inner thighs and along the curves of his ass, planting a tender kiss on the small of his back when he was done.

“Thank you.”

Blaine rose to his feet. “It’s no problem.”

He slid his arms under Kurt’s and wrapped them around his torso, pressing his chest to Kurt’s back and bringing his hands to rest on his flat belly.

They stood there like that in the water together as the chirping of crickets rose up and filled the air.

When the stars shone brightly, dotting the night sky with their distant fires, they fell asleep tangled up in each other beneath both blankets, Kurt’s head resting on Blaine’s chest.


	7. Wednesday

It felt like a small boulder had been set on Blaine’s chest as he stirred from sleep, and he began to panic before the previous day’s events came flooding back to him. The weight of Kurt’s head shifted, and Blaine looked down at the mess of hair there, chestnut and pink, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a partial grin at the sight.

Blaine didn't want to move for fear of startling Kurt awake, and for once, he woke feeling relaxed, sated, and happy, albeit, still a bit stiff and achy from the hard ground beneath his back.

He lifted his hand and carded his fingers through Kurt’s hair, combing it all toward the side of his head. It flopped back when he withdrew his hand.

“Couldn't the sun wait just a few more hours to rise?” Kurt grumbled. He turned over and rolled off of Blaine with a groan, pulling the blankets off with him.

“Good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t,” Kurt snapped. “Don’t talk. My head is pounding, and hearing your voice is making me want to vomit.”

Blaine huffed and sat up, staring down Kurt with a look of disgust, and then his expression changed into one of hurt and confusion.

“Well, fuck you too,” Blaine muttered under his breath, feeling like Kurt had slapped him across the face again.

Kurt was cradling his head in his hands, curled up in fetal position. “This is the worst feeling in the world,” he whined, sliding a hand down to press against his stomach.

Blaine was so hurt, he was tempted to snap back at Kurt about why he had such a foul attitude, but he was afraid he already knew. Kurt’s behavior had nothing to do with him. The side-effects of Kurt’s unavoidable cold turkey had worsened, and Blaine began to feel helpless as Kurt sat there suffering. He cursed himself for being useless and ignorant, for not magically having some sort of antidote. What made it worse was that he was terrified to touch or talk to Kurt in attempt to comfort him, knowing that he might lash out at him at any moment.

He had been warned. But sometimes Blaine chose to ignore warnings. Starting a fight with Kurt wasn’t what he wanted. It wouldn't do either of them any good.

“I feel nauseous and hungry at the same time,” Kurt said.

“I noticed you haven’t been eating much.”

“I haven’t. Because up until recently, smoking was curbing my appetite and my body was used to not eating...but now I’m starving!” He pounded the ground with his fist.

“Just - fuck, Kurt. Just calm down. You should eat something.”

“If you have more crackers or something like that, I might be able to stomach it,” Kurt said.

“Sure, yeah.” Blaine dug some out of his bag, alarmed to see he only had two packages remaining and not much else, and handed them over. “I can’t make it stop, but if I could, believe me I would. I so would.”

Kurt’s face began to tremble as tears rolled swiftly down his pale cheeks.

“No, please don’t cry. Shit, I can’t stand seeing you like this,” Blaine said, looking away and fiddling with his bag as if he’d find something in there to help.

Kurt curled in on himself and sobbed into his arms and knees, the package of crackers clutched in his hand.

“At least, just, try to eat.” Blaine swallowed hard. Kurt looked like he was wasting away as it was.

He watched Kurt rip open the package with shaky fingers and then nibble on the corner of one.

“You know, I could tell you the story behind the dove,” Blaine said, in attempt to distract Kurt.

Kurt’s eyes lit up, but he didn't speak and continued to chew and swallow what he could.

“It’s there on my inner thigh, in a private spot, because there’s one thing they couldn't take away from me no matter what they did. They couldn't take away who I am, gay as hell and still capable of fucking and sucking cock.”

Kurt snorted and then burst out laughing, nearly spitting the food from his mouth.

“Okay, so maybe I’m lying a little,” he admitted with a sly smile. “At least I could make you laugh.”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. “Then what’s the real story behind it, eh?”

“Oh, but that one’s not as fun,” he sighed. “I got it right before I made the decision to leave - before I -” Blaine made air quotes, “‘flew’. It’s not really anything special. Running away was supposed to be like the great escape. I was caged and beaten down, but at least I’m my own person out here.”

“What a letdown,” Kurt scoffed. “That's so clichéd, but I get it. It means the same to me. Maybe I thought coming out here was my own personal salvation. What’s better than going somewhere to feel like you’re no longer going nowhere?” He chuckled bitterly.

“And where exactly was it you wanted to go? Before all this?”

Kurt was quiet for a moment. “I had dreams once just like any other foolish child. I’d spend hours in the living room with the piano, playing and singing scales. I’d watch movies, old and new, and dream of becoming just like the people telling those stories. I just wanted to create things, beautiful things,” he spoke with a spark of passion that Blaine had never seen in him. But then he trailed off, and the fire in his eyes died out again, the bright blue seemingly fading to gray.

Blaine felt his heart fracture.

Blaine stared at the toes of his boots, his lips turned down in a pout. He realized then that he’d thrown away his ambitions and any chance at becoming something, and for what?

An immense anxiety began to course through him. “Where are we going? How long have we even been out here?”

Kurt shrugged. “Does it really matter? We should move on now. I feel a little better. At least, my stomach has settled.”

He climbed unsteadily to his feet, swaying for a moment until he no longer felt lightheaded.

It hit Blaine again that he was down to the last of his food, now feeling nauseous himself.

“What happens when we run out of food and other supplies, Kurt?”

Another shrug. Kurt lifted his bag off the ground, pulled the strap over his shoulder, and then started walking forward without a word.

Blaine wanted to scream, the hollow, sick feeling in his stomach growing, becoming unbearable.

He reluctantly followed Kurt, lagging behind him as they trudged down the tracks.

His muscles no longer burned but felt like rubber. The skin on the back of his neck was scorching and tinged red. His body felt like it was on the verge of shutting down.

They didn't make it very far before Kurt was doubling over and struggling to compose himself, but his body was too worn out and working against him on every front.

“I can’t go any farther,” Kurt said, short of breath. He stumbled over to a nearby tree and propped himself up, leaning his full weight against it.

Blaine followed, staying by his side and standing a couple of feet off. Then a hand shot forward, grabbed a fistful of the front of Blaine’s shirt, and tugged him forcefully forward. His chest was soon flush with Kurt’s, their noses only centimeters apart.

“I never had a plan,” he said quietly, breathing hotly against Blaine’s skin.

“What?”

“When I started walking, I never had a plan. To tell you the truth, I figured I’d just keep walking...and eventually I’d walk myself to death.”

“What?! Kurt, that’s awful. I can’t believe you - but, why?”

“Let’s be honest, Blaine. Where can we really go? Do you think there’s some wonderful land of Oz at the end of this forsaken sorry excuse for a road? That there’s some paradise at the end of our journey? Well, there isn't. Not for people like us. We’re exactly where we’re meant to be, living and dying in our abominable sin. Forgotten and alone.”

Kurt’s voice was too calm, too steady.

A harrowing chill surged through Blaine’s body, causing him to twitch and raising the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.

Blaine began to tremble. “Stop, just stop, Kurt. Don’t talk like that. You’re worth more than that, so much more.”

“Says who? You?”

“Fuck.” Blaine’s eyes welled up with tears of anger.

“In fact, I would probably already be dead by now if -” he licked his lips, his eyes shifting, searching Blaine's, “if you hadn’t come along.”

Kurt’s mouth hung slightly open, and he brought his hand up and carded his fingers through Blaine’s unruly curls. Then he laid his palm flat against his cheek, the bristly hairs poking at his soft skin.

He kissed Blaine on the mouth, breathing deeply through his nose. And then he pulled away with a light smacking of their lips as they disconnected.

Blaine’s chest swelled for a brief moment before all his insides twisted into tight knots. It was an overwhelming burden to know he’d been the reason Kurt hadn’t given up, the reason he was still choosing to live.

Blaine blinked a tear from his eye, and his voice came out like a dying breath. “Do you ever think about going back?”

“Sometimes.”

“Kurt.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”


	8. Thursday

Kurt sat cross-legged in the grass, his lighter out in his hand, flicking it on and off and on and off. His face was intermittently illuminated in a soft, orange glow from the minute flame.  

With his head at rest on Kurt’s shoulder, Blaine watched, mesmerized by the fickle flame, his eyelids drooping partially closed.

“I could light the world on fire, you know.”

 _Click_. On.

 _Click_. Off.

 _Click_. On.

“I know. But, what good would that do?”

 _Click_. Off.

“None at all. But I have the power to do it.”

 _Click_. On.

Blaine lifted his head from Kurt’s shoulder. “Having power is never a good enough reason to use it. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to, uh, relieve myself.”

 _Click_. Off.

Kurt returned the lighter to his bag.

Blaine ambled off the path and disappeared into the trees.

The minutes felt like hours as Kurt sat there, alone with only his thoughts that were suddenly too loud in his head. Every one of his senses felt more acute, the stimuli from his surroundings amplified and more intense.

Kurt shifted around, finding each position uncomfortable, and then he laid back in the grass and stretched his arms and legs out like a starfish. He folded his arms behind his head and stared blankly at the sky through the trees.

Still no sign of Blaine.

He closed his eyes. A mosquito buzzed by his ear, he swatted at it, and his eyes flew open again.

He watched a large bird drift on air currents through the sky overhead, and then an entire flock took flight, making an exodus from a nearby tree in a cloud of dark feathers.

Kurt inhaled deeply, the dry summer air filling his lungs, and then he exhaled, his body collapsing.

Blaine was gone.

His stomach began to twist at the realization, his mind entertaining a slew of unpleasant thoughts. Kurt was right back at square one, alone, hungry, and with nowhere to go and nothing to live for. God, he’d been such a fool to think that he’d found something good, a light amidst the darkness of his reality, that Blaine was different than the other people in his life, that he understood him because he knew how it felt to be in his shoes, that he hadn’t pushed him away. But he supposed everyone would leave him eventually.

It would be so easy to close his eyes, try to clear his mind, and just slip away...

_“...There was nothing they could do, Kiddo...I’m sorry...”_

_“...This is just the way it’s gotta be. You can’t change the world.”_

_“...You can’t sit up here forever, Kurt. You have to eat something eventually.”_

_“...You’re gonna be lonely, that’s a fact. Because you’re different...”_

“I’m so sorry, Kurt. I - Kurt?”

Never had a voice ever sounded so much like salvation, like hope incarnate. He felt a shadow looming over him, and he opened his eyes to stare up into the face of God. Who would have thought he’d be so handsome and rugged, with brilliant hazel eyes like they held the sun and moon and all the stars in the galaxy.

Blaine smiled, relief washing over him. “I’m sorry I took so long. When I went off to take a piss, I kinda got distracted by, uh, these.” Blaine thrust his hand forward, displaying a bunch of blue wildflowers clutched in his fist.

Kurt pulled himself back up into a sitting position, knitting his brow as he processed what he was seeing. He gazed at the flowers, and then he looked up into Blaine’s face, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“There was a large patch of them over by a pond - oh, I got some water too - but I thought they were pretty, and I...I picked them for you.”

Kurt rose slowly to his feet, his eyes fixed on the flowers being held out and offered to him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat.

“Why?”

“I - I don’t know. I just thought you might like them?”

“Well, you thought wrong!” Kurt cried, anger inexplicably surging through him. He swung his hand and swatted the flowers out of Blaine’s grasp, sending them to the ground.

Blaine’s mouth fell open in dismay, and he took a step back.

“We have no use for flowers! What am I supposed to do, eat them or something? And now that you’ve picked them, they’re just going to die! What were you even thinking?!”

Tears began to sting in Blaine’s eyes. “I just thought,” he took a shaky breath, “that you deserved something nice.”

Blaine’s voice cracked painfully on the final word.

Kurt covered his face with his hands and turned away for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Kurt bent down to scoop up the flowers, and then he brought them closer to his face as he admired them. “Thank you - I really mean it. No one has ever given me anything like this before.”

“It’s okay -”

“No, it’s not okay -”

“No, it’s okay, Kurt. Really. Maybe it was stupid of me, but sometimes I can’t help myself.”

Blaine grabbed Kurt’s upper arm, ran his fingertips down the series of tattoos, and then placed his hand at the back of Kurt’s neck, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Kurt’s body was searing as Blaine continued south, trailing rough kisses down his neck, his shoulder, all along his arm, seemingly tracing the patterns etched into it by needle, cherishing the artwork on and the art that was Kurt’s body. And then he grabbed both of Kurt’s wrists, bringing his right wrist up to his mouth and softly, slowly kissing the mark, the brand that had caused him so much pain.

Kurt closed his eyes, trying not to cry from an onslaught of emotions that accompanied Blaine’s affection, how he seemed to worship the flaws that Kurt only saw as ugly and contemptible, and Blaine sank to his knees, his hands quickly finding and undoing Kurt’s pants.

He sighed and moaned through the bits of pleasure his body was still capable of feeling as Blaine continued to worship and praise, composing psalms against his skin with each swirl of his tongue and drag of his lips.

Kurt’s knees gave out as he came, and he collapsed onto the ground, releasing the flowers from his grip. Blaine held onto him to support his weight, making the impact as soft as possible.

Blaine pulled off and wrapped Kurt up in his arms, embracing him tightly. He ran his fingers through his hair over and over again, noticing that the pink color was almost entirely faded. Soon, it would be completely gone, leaving a lighter, once bleached area in his hair in its place like a scar.

With the weight of the boy in his arms and the feeling of his steady breaths and heartbeat against his own body, Blaine couldn't stop thinking ‘what now’? When he’d set foot on the tracks, he never had a plan either. He wasn’t sure what he’d encounter or where he might find himself in the end. Perhaps he would have turned around had he not found Kurt.

They could turn back, retrace every step they’d taken and try to recapture any bits of their pasts that had been good to them, seek forgiveness from those they’d left behind. If they were to step off the tracks and enter a city, they were sure to be arrested, two minors wandering around together, marked and filthy, and who knows what might happen to them. They’d be separated for certain. Or they could keep going, continue forward with no known destination, with only hope in their hearts and the will to live fueling their fire.

Blaine set his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. “You could still burn the world down, destroy everything around us.”

“I know.”

“But, you know what else? Someone could just as easily put it out.”

“Maybe.”

“You told me you wanted to create beautiful things. So stop it, Kurt, stop with the destruction. You need to be around...I need you to be around,” Blaine said. “And I’m terrified that I don’t know how to make sure you will be.”

“I can’t go backwards, Blaine. I can’t turn around and accept that I’m not meant to have what they have. I can’t turn around and face the abuse again.”

“There are horrors no matter where we go. There always will be. But I think the hardest thing would be to lose you, especially like this.”

“You will eventually, no matter what we do, no matter where we are. And I’ll lose you.”

“Kurt.”

“Yeah?”

“I trust you.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I’ll follow wherever you lead.”

“You might regret that.”

“But I won’t.”

Their bags sat a little ways off on the ground beside each other, flimsy and sagging from lack of contents. Kurt rose to his feet and took a few hesitant steps, pausing a few times, his hand at his chin.

Blaine followed, scooping up his bag after Kurt. In silence, they made their way back to their pathway.  

“We should keep moving now,” Kurt said, his expression softening as he gazed at Blaine with a slight smile that caught the last beams of the day’s light.

Blaine nodded. He held his hand out, and Kurt needed no further prompting. He slipped his thin, frail hand into Blaine’s, feeling warmth travel up his arm.

They trudged down the tracks as the sun sank slowly below the trees.

The world around them was quiet.


End file.
